


Merlinite

by cambria



Category: Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: Asatru, Devotional, Dreams, Dreamwalking, Gen, Inspired by true events, Other, Paganism, rating prone to change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 14:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15317517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cambria/pseuds/cambria
Summary: Dreams are strange things. Sometimes they’re only dreams. Usually, they tend to be a lot more. Especially when I don’t remember them.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s late at night. So far past midnight you could argue it’s early morning. There’s a plague following me, hot on my heels; a hellhound in my trail. A cloud of viciousness and a vacuum of life. It feels like—looks like mosquitoes. But I know they’re not. It’s not. It’s so much worse, so much darker.

It gets into homes and eyes and lungs and I hear the screams until I don’t. They fade out eventually, lungs desiccated and unable to hold enough air for sound. It feels inescapable; everyone I see, everyone I know assumes they are safe at home; everyone falls to this plague.

So, naturally, I run.

I run and I bang on doors begging to be let in. I bang on so many doors; the side of my fist is red and angry and sore. I keep slamming, keep pounding pavement, because eventually someone has to answer. Right? Eventually someone will open the door, right?

The Plague brushes dangerously close to me. I can see each little pest individually. I can almost feel them in my lungs... but my legs are faster and the home next to me is a more appealing meal. I luck out, but at what cost?

I keep slamming my feet against the sidewalk until I come across a home. It feels familiar, like something out of my childhood. There’s someone in the living room; I can see their head from he sidewalk and the glow their handheld whateveritis cast a glow around them.

I don’t bother knocking.  
And they didn’t bother locking the door.  
Small victories.

As I slam it shut behind me, the Plague whizzes by. The sound is horrifyingly close, and I call fee the sound vibrate through the door. I run up the few steps, turn to my left to face the living room.

The boy there can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. His red hair is a curly mess on his head. And he’s playing—what is that, Pokémon blue? He pulls his headphones down and looks at me like he expected me.

Everything is so strange. Is feels like this boy speaks directly into my mind. But that’s impossible. There are no words; just thoughts, impressions. He knows me. I know him, but I’m not sure I do. Not that well.

By the time I finally open my mind mouth to speak, to explain what’s happening, to warn against the Plague, to say we have to either escape now or hunker down and barricade the house—

I wake up.


	2. Chapter 2

The dream stays with me days after I wake up. It isn’t that it’s a nightmare—it wasn’t, not really. My nightmares usually involve a family member dying.

There’s just something about it that begs for attention and inspection. That demands analysis and further investigation. But, between work and a husband and attempting to not absolutely wither in the heat, I can’t muster the wherewithal to pore over it at all.

When a week passes and my head still feels full of fog, I make up my mind. I light a candle, throw some sandalwood on a lit coal, slip on my headphones and get to meditating at the altar.

And promptly ask Loki is any of this is His doing.

The song loops several times and I feel nothing out of the ordinary. I feel His presence, like I normally do. Like something out of your periphery that you can’t quite grasp the shape of. It gets frustrating.

But before giving up, I grab the tumbled, polished merlinite that sits at the edge of the altar. When I close my palms around the small stone, I can almost instantly feel something. The sensation is almost foreign, but this has happened twice already. I’m almost used to it.

I clutch the stone, cross my legs, take a deep breath, and close my eyes.

The same scenery greets me as the very first time. I’m overlooking a steep, deadly-feeling cliffside. The ocean waves crash angrily against the stone. The sky’s overcast, like it wants to rain and thunder but can’t find the willpower to. The wind whips at my hair and pulls at my clothes. I feel like a ghost at the edge of a precipice. There’s no danger here.

I can feel laughter before I hear it. Like the static that clings to your skin before a storm. But I can’t speak; I’m a ghost in this place. An after image. That’s alright. I’m used to this.

Just like with the Boy, I’m spoken to in thoughts and images, impressions and ideas. Unmistakably, I know this is Loki. There’s joy and anxiety, fear and the incredible high from overcoming it. Crashing waves and misty clouds and roaring fires.

And, next to my ear, “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Only one chapter for now, and I’ll keep it listed as complete. I’m probably going to write more, but I don’t want to make any promises. 
> 
> I suck at keeping promises with my writing.


End file.
